


Wind Chimes [JeanMarco]

by jeanmarcats



Series: The Perplexity of Love [JeanMarco Series] [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Death, Loss, M/M, pls do not read if you're affected by family bereavement!!!!, sad times 4 jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 17:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6528616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanmarcats/pseuds/jeanmarcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's funny how the wind blows even when everything's gone wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wind Chimes [JeanMarco]

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh!!! ;w; it's been so long since i last wrote on here !! (or at all really lmao) i just.. i just love jeanmarco so much. i had to. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy it!!!  
> ALSO, please do not read this if you're strongly affected by family bereavement or bereavement of any kind!! i really don't want to bring back any bad memories for anyone !!! 
> 
> btw, please let me know if anyone would like to see a full-on story about this AU. thanks :)

 

Images flashed through Jean's mind like a roll of tape, for a split second and then gone, for another second and gone again. It was always the same, his mother in some form, her smiling, or laughing, or maybe crying. It was all a blur to him now anyway; now that she was gone. 

He recalled her last words to him, the shaky breath that uttered from her dying lungs, the glossiness of her warm hazel eyes that used to light up his entire world. That smile seemed faded, worn out, like a dying tape recorder. " _Find someone nice for yourself, Jeanie. Find someone who loves you as much as your mummy did. You'll be okay, sweetie. I know you will._ " Those were the words that kept repeating and replaying, skipping and jumping in Jean's mind, stuttering and fucking  _aching_ his entire body. His hands had been mottled and grey for an entire hour, and the rain had definitely soaked through his beanie and into his un-styled hair. 

He'd only just woken up when he received the call from his father, unable to quite hear his voice properly over the noise of the dog barking and the wind chimes outside twinkling. But he heard it faintly enough, enough to make his heart rip from his ribcage and travel up into his mouth, liquefying into the taste of metal and remorse. He'd ran to the hospital, not bothering to start his car - he didn't have that time to waste. He ran exactly two miles to where his mother stayed, bottled up like an ornament on display for the sympathising doctors and cancer counsellors. Jean could almost smell death growing closer on his high-horse as soon as his foot hit the hospital floor, like a dreaded feeling tying and wrapping itself throughout his gut and intestines like a horrid disease. Life was a horrid disease to him now - now his mother was gone from this world. He remembered standing, watching with wide eyes as the life flew from his mother's body and into whatever was out there, the doctors and nurses crowding around the bed to really see if she'd slipped away. The tears didn't come for another few moments, and when they did, oh they came hard. Like a waterfall, a violent waterfall on a stormy and cold day that seemed to demolish any rocks or wildlife that dared to get closer. He could taste the salt in his mouth, he could feel the ache in the back of his eyes. 

And now he was just sat there, on the park bench, just by the hospital. He could only sit there and stare, at the small birds in the trees, chirping away to each other like there was nothing wrong in the world. Like someone hadn't just died, like it was all absolutely fine. But nothing was fine. Nothing would ever be fine again. But even so, the leaves still rustled on the trees and the wind still blew through the tall grass and flowers, like it always had. Jean found it funny, how every element of life still seemed to be working for every one else but himself. The rain still drizzled gently between the tree leaves and onto his head, the grass still shook in the wind and young teenagers still insisted on hanging around the parking lot to play spin the bottle.

" _Jean Kirstein, right?_ "

That's when he heard his voice for the first time, that soft, gentle voice that seemed to fit perfectly into the atmosphere. Jean turned his head just slightly, just enough to see a tall, freckled man sit beside him, not too close but not too far, his eyes being the warmest thing he'd seen all day. He was like a cup of hot chocolate in the middle of winter, warming up his insides slowly but enough to keep him enthralled. Jean didn't speak for a while, analysing this stranger's features, from the cute little freckle right in the centre of his face, to the tiny little speck of white angel dust adorning both of his nut-brown eyes. His lips were the softest shade of pink, lightly dusted around the corners with perhaps a hint of peach, all natural of course. This man was too beautiful, too angelic for any sort of make-up. But still, he couldn't see his true beauty in his now black and white world. Little wisps of soft brown hair fell just above the male's eyelashes, his locks smooth and shiny like melted chocolate. But his most astounding features, oh how beautiful they were, were the tiny little freckle specks that absolutely covered his lightly tanned face, like someone had taken a toothbrush and dipped it into paint, before flicking the warm colourant all over his features.

" _Yeah, that's me._ " He breathed out slowly with his words, pushing his cold hands into the pockets of his grey jacket. The other simply smiled, and scooted just a bit closer to Jean, holding out one of his hands for him to shake. God, they were covered in freckles too. Slightly darker freckles, but just as adorable. " _My name's Marco. I'm going to be your bereavement counsellor for the next few months.. Your dad told me you were out here, and uh, I just assumed you weren't with those other kids._ " Marco laughed awkwardly, removing his hand from Jean's to rub the back of his neck anxiously. _Marco. Marco_. His voice was butter smooth, gentle like a feather, soft and warm like a blanket on a cold night. 

Marco's lips twitched into a tiny little smile, and he scooted another few centrimetres, his arm sending warmth throughout Jean's cold body. They sat in silence for a little while, listening to the sound of the twinkling wind chimes along the path to the hospital, before Jean softly spoke, turning to look at the freckled male once more.  _"You know, they say wind chimes represent a new beginning._ " 

Marco's laughter fluttered through the air like a short tune. 

Perhaps Jean's mother was right after all.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. i hope you guys liked this. i know it's a bit short but uh, i think i'm known for shorter one-shots, haha! again, please let me know if you want a sequel or something, i'll be happy to do it !!!!!  
> thanks for reading! please comment with your feedback <3 <3


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